


Uzbadul

by Fratchet41



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dwalin Is A Softie, Lots of denial, M/M, Nori is a Little Shit, Thorin is bad at feelings, a bit of shenanigans with elves, and a dash of mettling wizard, and a whole lot of hurt/comfort, and everyone is so very gay, and quite frankly, and sad dwarf kings, bagginshield, but honestly, dont hate because icant handlethetruth, fluff n angst, happy dwarf children, in which the hobbit ends the way everyone wanted it to, mostly on my part, one's n twue wuv, post-book au, read a book, so is gandalf, so maybe spiolers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-05 21:08:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fratchet41/pseuds/Fratchet41
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Battle of Five Armies has left the sons of Durin injured, but not killed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fili

The first thing Fili knew was that it was dark. The flapping of the tent's door obstructed the stars for but a moment, but the billowing canvas would let their light in as the wind blew a cold, chilling air over his cheeks and down his neck. He heard a fire crackle outside, and let his eyes close at the thought of it. He could smell the stench of death in the air, feel the dragon's fire on his skin. He furrowed his brow and raised a hand.

"Kili. . ." His voice came weak and dry from his scorched throat, the vibration rattling his brain. He tried to sit up but the dragon's fire seared through his body. So Fili laid there, suddenly very weak.

"Careful now, lad." A framiliar voice came from the opening of the tent, "Wouldn't want to break them stitches, now. Come, Oin will fix ye." Fili didn't open his eyes, and was too weak to be able to move. He dared not speak, for fear of burning his throat again.

He could feel the prescence of another, though he did not hear anyone else enter the tent. Oin's hands soothed salve onto his body and cleaned his bandages quietly. All the while Fili fought to stay awake. He mustered enoigh courage to open his eyes again, and noted a small figure standing over him, next to Oin. 

The hobbit caught his eye, but didn't speak to him. His face was drawn into a scowl and his eyes were swollen and red. Fili's heart skipped when he thought what the halfling might be crying over.

"Is he-" Bilbo started, not breaking eye contact with the dwarf. He bit his lip and Fili could see tears welling up in his eyes.

"I can't say, laddie." Oin's voice was also low and quiet with worry, "His wounds are even worse than Kili, and him I'm not even sure."

Fili sighed as well as he could. His brother was alive, then, if only for a moment. He smiled at the thought and closed his eyes.

He just needed a moment longer.

\----

Fili awoke again, but it was different this time. It was light outside, with much more noise coming from outside of the thin canvas of his tent. He then registered the pain, like hot forged steel had been dragged across his chest, almost enough to cry out. His eyes shot open and he grimaced, his weakness still restricting his movements. Both Oin and the halfling had gone, and he was very cold. He closed his eyes and shivered, doing what he could to ignore his wounds.

Whether he slept or not, Fili was not sure, but the voice the pulled him back to reality was that of Bilbo.

"Please, my Lord, he is the heir of Durin, do not forget the doors to Moria fashioned all-"

"Do you think I am one to forget?" A cold, stern voice responded, "Thorin Oakenshield has already exhausted some of my most skilled healers, I am quite sure that the apothecary in your company is sufficient." It was Thranduil, Fili could recognise the pretentious drawl from anywhere.

Bilbo made a huffing sound before he spoke, "I cannot believe your pride or your stubbornness, my Lord! To think that the king of the great Greenwood could not do so much as lift his finger in order to save the heir to the Throne Under the Mountain!" The hobbit now sounded flustered, his voice pitching high at the wrong moments. 

There was then a long silence, and Fili could only hear the sound of Thranduil thinking. He opened his eye a crack and watched Bilbo nearvously. The Halfling squeezed his hands together with worry and rocked on the balls of his feet.

Thranduil chuckled then, light and airy, "When I first heard that a halfling had held council with Smaug the Terrible, I could hardly think it so." he said, voice softer than before, "Now that I see you in your mithril jerkin and elvish blade, I understand." Bilbo smiled sheepishly and tried to hide the blush behind his hands, but the elf still continued. "I will aid Fili, heir of Thorin, but I cannot promise his life." Before Bilbo could say anything more, Thranduil turned on his heel and glided away, his long limbs swaying like a willow tree in the wind.

"Bilbo," Fili's mouth was dry and his voice was cracked, making the hobbit jump and rush to his side.

"Fili! My goodness, look at you! Did you hear? Oh, Eru, nevermind, how do you feel?"

"Kili, where is Kili?" he breathed the words, more to himself than to Bilbo. He tried to sit up impatiently, his wounds hurt and he was beginning to grow weary. He ignored the halfling's protests and stirred, trying to swing his legs over the side of his cot and-

"Be still, little prince." a deep voice commanded from the entrance of his tent, and Fili obeyed.

"Thorin! You musn't be up out of bed! Thranduil said-"

"I care not for what the elf thinks." Thorin rumbled, his voice still thick with exhaustion. Fili watched quietly as his uncle limped over to the cot, using Bilbo mostly as a crutch. 

"Th-Thorin." Fili stiffened, suddenly very self-aware, "I-I'm sorry,"

"You fought valiantly." Thorin whispered, voice gentle.

"Please, my brother. May I see him?" he whimpered, his impatience somewhat muted by his exhaustion.

"Sleep now." Thorin almost cooed, resting a cool hand on Fili's brow. The gesture was gentle and motherly, making Fili shiver silently. "Your brother is safe. Rest, my little prince."

Fili closed his eyes, and let himself drift away once more.

 


	2. Fili

"Hammers and coal! Fili, Kili, if you two keep going on like two gundabag ruffians at least do it  _outside._ " 

Fili winced, having recognized his mother's all too familiar tone. The older brother, having learned when to stop testing Dís' patience, grabbed Kili by the back of his collar and dragged the small, thrashing dwarfling out the door. Once they were safe, they sprinted through the flower bed and vvegetable garden, clashing their wooden sworsd together ferociously. Fili was older and bigger than his little brother, who really had not much practice with his sword at all.

"No fair!" Kili whined, as Fili pinned him to the ground, sword out of reach. After a little more struggling from his brother, Fili did let him up, getting a poorly-attempted tackle for his efforts. Fili just let Kili slide off him, too tired to feign a retaliation. The smaller dwarfling then stood, breathing hard.

"Will he be here soon?" Kili asked, tugging at Fili's sleeve.

Fili looked down the road that ran along the river and towards the bright wall of trees that was the Greenwood. The sun was still high in the sky, without a cloud to marr the sight. He was supposed to come by nightfall. Fili shifted nearvously, clenching his fists and shrugging.

"I'll race you down to the bridge." Fili tagged his brother and started running down the road, with Kili chasing after him and shouting about not having a proper start.

Fili won, of course, causing Kili to tackle him onto the dirt road. They wrestled for a true victor for a moment, Fili knew he won the fight, but he decidedly agreed that it was a draw. Then, with dirt in their hair and under their fingernails, they shuffled down the river bank underneath the bridge and sat on the shore. 

"Maybe he'll bring us new swords." Fili said, watching Kili try to catch fish with his hands. "Mine's a little small." 

"I'm no good at swordfighting, maybe he'll bring an axe or something." Fili still tried to catch the fish, his brow creasing in concenteation, "You think he'll have any stories to tell?" 

Fili snorted, "What's with you and all his stories? They're for little kids." He rolled his wet socks back off, and made a face.

"I like them." Kili said, sounding a little crestfallen.

Again, Fili made a noise of disapproval, "Yeah, well that's because you're a little kid." 

"Am not! Take that back!" Kili shouted, splashing water into Fili's face.

Fili jumped after his brother, drenching himself and his clothes in the river. He quickly pulled his brother into the water.  The two wrestled and scraped and scratched, getting their lungs full of water. Kili was able to grab Fili's blonde mane and pull it down into the water, allowing for enough time to dash back to the bank and retrieve his small sword. Fili was about to jump after him, when a set of slow, heavy footsteps was heard above them.

All movement was halted as the boys looked at each other in shock. Fili rushed to help his brother shove his shoes back on and scurry up to the bridge. Fili kept ahold of his little brother's colloar, all but dragging him up the hill.

Upon seeing the dwarf, both brothers grinned ear-to-ear. His back was turned, and if he did take notice of the two he didn't show it. The two sprinted towards their target and leaped onto him, giggling and laughing. Kili had managed to attach himself around his ankle, whereas Fili leaped onto his back and hooked his legs around his waist.

"There you two are, my little princes." Thorin chuckled, voice weary.

"We got you this time!" Kili cried, untangling himself from Thorin's thick ankles. Their uncle was smiling gently, and he waited for the dwarflings to get off him.

"Yes, indeed, you did. Now come, stand up straight, let me look at you."

The two brothers scrambled to stand in front of their uncle, pushing and shoving along the way. The two looked like drowned cats, their wet and tangled hair sticking to their muddy faces.

"By Mahal! You two have grown." Thorin smiled, though his eyes grew tired. "Fili, you've been taking care of your mother?"

"Yes, sir." Fili answered, shifting nearvously. Thorin had told him every time he left, that he was the man of the house, that his mother and brother were his responsibility. He needed to protect what he had, and forever be greatful for it.

"That's a lad. Kili, how has your training been?" His eyes softened when he turned to the younger dwarf, who fidgeted excitedly.

"Mister Dwalin teaches me lots!" he giggled, and he was right. Mister Dwalin had just begun teaching Kili the basics of swordfighting, but Fili has been learning since before he was Kili's age. Dwalin had complained to Thorin more than once that the lad had barely the strength to hold his sword up, let alone swing it. Thorin had said nothing, and told Mister Dwalin to do the best with what he had.

Thorin just grinnedat his smaller nephew, and ushered them back off the bridge, "Come," he said, "we shouldn't keep your mother waiting."

The two nodded and followed Thorin's brisk walk. Kili was especially excited and couldn't keep himself from talking. 

". . . And me and Fili practice every day, and I usually always win, because I'm good at swordfighting." 

"No you are not!" Fili interrupted, " I always win! You were only ever good at that rotten slingshot little dwarflings use! Even little Ori is better than you at that!"

"Peace, both of you." Thorin sighed, "Though I'm glad to see not everything changes about you two"

The brothers were quiet for all of a moment, before erupting into impatient stories about life on the river. The two of them just talking over each other rather than taking turns. Thorin gave up and tried to listen to the both of them, smiling and giving imput where needed.

Dís pulled her brother into a tight, almost strangling hug when she met them at the door. Fili and Kili scampered inside and sat at the hearth to warm up their cold, drenched bodies. The sky had darkened already and the air cooled down, making the two wet brothers chilled.

"Mahal, brother! You go off on your own for nearly two seasons and don't do so much as write!" she shook him affectionately, "I should have your beard!"

Thorin didn't answer, and looked a little sheepish when he sat in the great armchair to the left of Fili, sighing as he set his bag down beside him. His body sagged and his eyes closed for a long moment, the corners of his mouth turning down to form a frown. He opened his eyes again, gazing into the fire. The burning embers reflected in his wet eyes and he made another face.

"Did you bring us anything, Thorin?" Kili's impatient voice broke him out of his riverie, the dwarfling was inching closer and closer to the chair.

"Kili," Their mother warned, low and guttural. Kili flinched and looked at Thorin.

"It's alright, Dís." Thorin dismissed and to, much of Fili's delight, reached for his bag.

He produced a small bow from his bag first, and Kili's eyes lit up. It was short and braud, very different from the long, slender bows the elves seemed to like so much. Fili decided that it looked very dwarvish, and dwarvish it was.  

"I won't give you arrows until Dwalin teaches you to stand with it." Thorin added, but Kili didn't seem to mind. He quickly snatche the bow up, pulling the drawstring with the expression of an expert hunter. Once satisfied, he sat back down and cradled the weapon in his lap.

"And Fili, for you," Thorin mumbled, pulling a sword and scabbard from his pack. Judgeing from its weight alone, the blade was made of forged metal, not wood. 

"Thorin." his mother said, again, low and wary.

"I forged it myself. The edge is dull, I thought you should practice with real metal in your hand." he looked to his sister, who was still glaring daggers at him. Fili still took it, eyes wide in amazement. It was heavier than he expected, with a partially oak hilt and matching scabbard. He let it glide out if its case, the smooth steel glinting in the firelight. He thought for a moment, still a little speechless.

"Can I name it now?" he looked up at Thorin, who seemed a little suprised.

"Well, swords are usually named after their deeds in battle, but you may if you've already a name for it." Thorin shrugged and sat back in his chair.

Fili thought for a long while, taking in the sharp angles and harsh angles of the blade, he saw the beautiful craftmanship as well as the kingly elegance. He smiled to himself and looked at his uncle.

"Uzbadûl." he grinned, "The lord's son."

Thorin smiled softly at him, tears in his eyes, "Aye, my little prince." He ruffled Fili's hair fondly, and gazed quietly into the dying fire. The smouldering embers making his eyes sparkle once more. Dís sighed, and picked Kili up. 

"Well, you two, it's past your bedtime, I think you should be off to sleep." She said quietly.

"But Ma! We haven't seen Thorin in ages!" Kili retorted through a yawn.

"She is quite right, and I shall be here in the morning. Thorin reassured as he stood, "go on."

Both brothers reluctantly stood and filed into their room. Once both of them had pulled their bedcovers over their shoulders and were finally comfortable, Thorin quietly strode into their room, shutting the door behind him. He sat on the edge of Kili's bed, and brushed the dark hair from his face.

"Sing us the dirge." Fili said, suddenly, "The one about our home." he nuzzled his face closer into his pillow and closed his eyes. He waited a moment before Thorin's voice filled the room in a low baritone and Fili's heart with borrowed nostalgia.

 _Far over the Misty Mountains cold,  
_ _Through dungeons deep and cavern old,_  
 We must away, ere break of day,  
To find our long forgotten gold.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha so lets just pretend that Dis and her two little shits ended up living somewhere not in a mountain, mostly because I like things a little more hobbit-ey and quiet.   
> I also just love Fili so much I might cry. 
> 
> Not beta'd so if it sucks I'm so sorry.


	3. Kili

Kili woke with a start to the smell of death and sharp pains everywhere. He was in a tent, though he was not alone. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the brightness of the tent, the white canvas making his head buzz with dull pain. He squinted at the man before him, silently trying to guess who it was. It was too tall to be a dwarf and too braud for an elf. Kili tried to sit up as best he could, but the man in front of him protested.

"Careful, now." the old man weezed, "you dont quite have all of your strength yet."

"Gandalf," Kili croaked, throat dry. He should have known it to be the wizard. Ever since The Company had started their journey the old man had the unusual knack for turning up when everyone least expected it.

"Drink this, Kili, it will help return your strength." the wizard offered him a small glass bottle filled with what looked like water, which Kili gladly took. The liquid was sweet and cool on his throat, immediately dulling the pain in his wounds. He felt the weariness in his body begin to ebb away, and his head finally stopped spinning. 

"Where is my brother?" Kili suddenly asked, sitting up with little to no punishment from his body, "where is Fili?" he nearvously tugged at the soiled bandages on his left leg, finding little to no wounds beneath them.

At first Gandalf didn't answer,  making his heart jump into his throat. Kili couldn't remember much of the battle, the last moment he recalled was looking at his brother for reassurance, and was met with a cocky, sideways smirk from Fili, who seemed to share the same fear in his eyes. His big brother was always stronger and quicker than him, he had barely ever beaten Fili when they sparred. He he couldn't be-

"He is alive, but only just." Gandalf sighed, "The elven healers have taken him into their care, and seem to be running low on supplies-"

"I must see him, Tharkûn." Kili shifted in his cot, and Gandalf blinked at the use of his dwarvish name. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his bare feet meeting cool and damp grass. A heavy hand on his shoulder was the only thing stopping him from getting up. 

"You must rest, master dwarf." Gandalf warned, "it still may take a few hours for it to become fully effective." The wizard then stood and collected himself, notably more weary than usual.

Kili narrowed his eyes, "For what to take effect?" but by then the wizard was already halfway out of the tent and grumbling something incomprehensible. 

"Wait!" Kili called, stumbling out of his bed and over to a pile of his personal effects. He stripped his body of his smallclothes as well as the old, bloodsoaked bandages. He made a face when he found that there was little to no actual damage under the wrappings. The only injury to note was the slight twinge in his knee when he put too much weight on it. He pulled on his boots and the clothes that looked to be somewhat clean. He found both his bow and sword were taken care of, and smiled at the sight. Once he was dressed, he thought his gear to be much heavier than he remembered, and his legs felt a little shaky from being bedridden. But he was alive and so was his brother, and that was all that mattered.

The wizard was long gone by the time Kili had found his way out of his tent, but that wasn't much of a suprise. He shaded his eyes from the bright sun and saw the lines of sick tents, stretching all the way to the foot of the lonely mountain. He looked to his right and saw that the old, desolate ruins of Dale were being cleaned up and rebuilt, a kind of sober cheer settling over the city. The sun was high and hot in the sky, and Kili smiled.

After being shooed away from the sick-tents, (apparently calling out your brother's name as loud as you could was 'disturbing') Kili decided he'd go and at least find Bard or Tauriel in Dale.

Tauriel was, if nothing else, beautiful. Her auburn hair and fair skin shone in the moonlight, and her eyes and smile sparkled like the stars themselves. Kili smiled to himself as he walked through the busy city, admiring the scaffolding being built over ruined towers and the shops that had already opened, if only just for a time. A dread settled into his stomach now, for he no longer felt the yearning he did when he first saw the elegant elf capture him in the Greenwood. 

Kili, like most other dwarves, were born with a One, a longing to make their heart whole. The feeling was unmistakeable, to look upon a One for the first time. Kili saw Tauriel kill the wretched spiders in the wood and he knew it was her. He stayed up most of the night, telling her stories, and he knew. He watched her suck the poison from his body and save his life, and knew, even if it was just a dream. When Tauriel was gone he felt the ache and the longing grow, the desire to have her as his One.

Now the feeling was not so much muted as it was gone, and it terrified Kili. He knew what it meant when the longing in a dwarf's heart disappeared, shriveled up like a fruit in the sun. He hadn't told anyone about his One, not even Fili, and now he felt like a large part of his heart had been cut out of his chest.

He turned his attention towards the bustling town square, hoping to put his mind off his bad mood. He managed to knick a bright red apple from a fruit vendor. He found a quiet place by an old statue to sit and reap his spoils. 

"I didn't know dwarves' arms were long enough to draw a bow." a playful voice sounded behind him, making Kili jump. When he turned he found a tall, sleek wood elf, with long, golden hair and cold, blue eyes. Kili immediately recognised him as the elf that had threatened to kill his uncle, but he sneered all the same.

"I didn't know elves could see past the length of their noses." he grinned, taking the last bite of his apple and throwing the core onto the roof of a building.

The elf barked out a short laugh, "You mistake me for my father. My name is Legolas." his eyes brightened the same way Tauriel's had, and the dwarf had to fight down his sadness.

"And you for mine. I'm Kili." The elf looked suprised when Kili smiled up at him, but didn't say anything, "what brings you out of the forest? Run out of trees to shag or something?"

Again, Legolas chuckled, "My father has sent me to aid the healers in tending to the sick and wounded. Though I'm not sure why I would be of much use." there was an edge of annoyance in Legolas' tone, something Kili was all to familiar with.

"You are luckier than me still, friend. Confined in a tent with little more to do than count blades of grass in not what I asked for." Kili played with his fingernails sheepishly, suddenly embarrassed to have said it.

"You were injured then?" the elf asked more than stated.

Taking some offense to the elf's statement, Kili pouted, "yes, defending my brother and uncle. I escaped to look for that damned wizard but of course he's disappeared again." Kili crossed his arms over his chest and winced, still finding new tender spots.

Legolas only nodded, "Maybe Mithrandir meant for you to leave." his tone was no longer harsh nor judgemental.

"I know not what goes through that old man's head." Kili frowned, he honestly hadn't considered the possibility before.

"There aren't many that do." the elf smirked, somewhat knowingly, "I've been told to collectherbs and plants from the Greenwood, to help one of the King's heirs in healing. If you'd like to come, I'd be greatful for at least the extra company."

Kil nearly jumped to his feet. "Fili? Is he alright? What aboit Thorin?" he ignored the pain in his ribs once he stood.

Legolas shrugged, somewhat overwhelmed by Kili's reaction, "Last I heard the King Under the Mountain was up and walking. I think the two princes still rest."

"Can you show me to them?" Kili asked nearvously. He balled his fists and eagerly shifted on his feet.

Legolas looked a little disappointed, but nodded, "I don't know where he is now, but if you help me in the forest I'm sure the guards will let you tag along with me." something gleamed in the elf's eye, and Kili bristled.

"Fine." he sighed, "Only because I need to see him."


	4. Kili

Legolas may have winked at Kili when he turned, but the elf was moving too fast for the dwarf to be sure. He moves swiftly and gracefully through the crowd, much to Kili's discomfort. The long, quick limbs kept the dwarf moving at a brisk and awkward pace, and both his legs and side complained at their use. Kili bumped into more than a few unhappy strangers along the way as he found it increasingly difficult to move in the mass of people. For only a moment, he found himself lost in a sea of taller men and women, but was quick to find the golden hair that fell from the elf's head like a waterfall, every strand in place and every piece gleaming in the afternoon sun.

The two finally got to the gates of the city, where they were greeted by a taller and thinner elf than even Legolas. Kili stopped to the right of his guide, forcing his breath to come out as even as the elf's. Legolas exchanged a few words in elvish with his kin, and two horses were presented to him, a dark grey mare as well as a huge, black stallion. Kili took a step back unconsiously, the huge animals looked tall even for Legolas, and were snorting and stomping in agitation.

Kili had learned to ride when he was young, from Thorin. Once he was fifty his uncle had come with three ponies instead of two, and let Kili tag along with him and Fili all the way to the Misty Mountains, much to Dís' discontent. Of course he had been so proud of himself, immediately challenging his brother to a race. Fili had been going on errands with Thorin for at least ten years before Kili had, and was much more a skilled rider. It had ended with mud down his breeches and a stern scolding from his uncle, but even that didn't dampen Kili's spirit on their small adventure.

Kili was braught out of the memory with a quick smirk from Legolas, "You can ride, yes? This is my friend and kin Faendal, who has graciously agreed to lend you his horse." a stern looke from Legolas told him that the other elf may have been a little less than happy about it. Faendal didn't respond, however, and only nodded politely at Kili. He had darker hair and green eyes, set close together to accommodate his protruding cheekbones. The elf then gave him a quick and cold once over and sniffed. he turned to Legolas and said something quick and quiet in elvish, but was interrupted.

"Come, Kili," Legolas smiled again, mounting the grey horse in one smoothe motion. Faendal looked reluctant to hand the reins over to the dwarf, but did so anyway, saying nothing. Kili took a moment to gather his nerves and swallow his heart. He had never been on a horse this big and skiddish before. The beased eyed him carefully, still tossing its head and swishing its tail. He couldn't reach the stirrup from where he was standing, so he grabbed the pommel and the seat of the saddle to haul himself up. The horse then decided it would scoot foreward and Kili was forced to reign the beast in, feet desperately feeling for his stirrups.

"My apologies," Legolas almost chuckled, and the dwarf couldn't help but blush, "He is still nearvous from the battle. Try not to think so loudly."

Kili rolled his eyes and let his horse pick up a brisk trot next to Legolas, who had already started down the road without so much as a farewell to Faendal. His black horse was pleasant enough, so long as Kili let him stay close to Legolas' mare. The horse's long stride was definately more comfortable then that of a small pony, but the animal was much less manageable than a calm little pony. Legolas didn't speak when they broke into a gallop along the river, nor did the elf glance back at him while riding.

The two made it to the entrance to the forest road, which seemed slightly less rundown than Kili's last encounter. It hadn't taken as long as he had thought, something gave the horses speed and strength. 

"We should hobble the horses and leave them here." Legolas almost commanded, slipping off of the mare easily. "I wouldn't want to risk any more fresh horses."

Kili also jumped from his horse, and winced when he landed hard on his knee. A well placed blow from an orc's sheild had twisted it badly during the battle, but thankfully the elf didn't seem to take notice. Kili drew himself up and scanned the forest suspiciously.

"Take heart, Master Dwarf." Legolas said, though Kili was unsure if he was serious or not, "very few have ventured into the Greenwood and survived. Now is not the time to be headstrong."

He was led along the forset path, which cofused the dwar much more than Legolas, it seemed. The elf walked confidantly and swiftly, sometimes making shortcuts here and there. It made Kili worry at some times, that they would get lost in the wood much like what had happened the last time they had dared to traverse it.

As if reading his mind, Legolas spoke. "Do you not feel it?" he glanced at Kili, who could only stare blankly, so, he continued, "The forest, it guides me to the path."

Kili furrowed his brow for a moment. He certainly didn't feel any less than completely lost, so he shook his head, "We don't have elf magic."

Legolas chuckled again, light and airy, "It's not magic, I don't think. It's much like hearing or seeing, only, with your legs." The elf then stopped to look at the Dwarf again, "You don't feel it? The pull in your boots? It's a guide, telling you where you need to go."

Again Kili shook his head, and Legolas looked crestfallen for a moment, but siad nothing and continued on the journey The two followed a game trail farther into the forest, until they came to a small clearing, ripe with lush and colourful flowers. Legolas then showed him the plants that he required to find, and strictly told him to not leave the clearing. 

"You're not leaving?" Kili almost begged, stomach churning.

"Only for a short time, I was also charged with destroying a nest of spiders." The elf sighed.

"I'll hunt with you!" Kili pleaded, but only recieved and mirthful glance in return.

"You are safe so long as you stay in the the clearing." Legolas called, "I will be back in an hour, don't go anywhere." With that, the elf disappeared into the darkness of the forest, leaving Kili feeling very alone.

It didn't take long for the dwarf to find the herbs he needed to collect, as the clearing was large and the plants he saught seemed fairly common. His knee ached from having to kneel and collect the plants, but he didn't mind all that much. He had suffered worse after a thorough spar with his brother, a twisted knee was the least of his worries.

Something clenched in his stomach when he thought of Fili, bedridden and dying, while he was up and walking. He was always so strong, so  _alive_. Kili couldn't remember what exactly had happened i nthe battle, but he had a feeling his brother's injuries were at least partly because of him. Fili was always there to protect him, always there to cuff him over the head and tell him to stop being an ideot or that he should be moving his feet when sparring. He couldn't be-

Kili swallowed hard. He knew his brother could not be dead. Fili was still so present and tangible in the back of his mind, he knew Fili was not dead. He could feel it in his boots.

Kili was then pulled from thought when he noticed how dark it was. He could barely see the trees in front of him let alone the clearing. He blinked twice and turned, seeing nothing but trees. The clearing had gone, and he had somehow caught himself wandering aimlessly through the bush. He turned around twice, still trying to figure out how he got into this predicament. Panic slowly set in once he realised that he was lost in Mirkwood, completely alone, and it would soon be night time.

He decided that east felt closest to his left and began walking, trying to take note of any framiliar trees or branches. He looked for his old footprits to follow back but it was impossible to track in the thick underbrush and the darkness. It was then, that Kili began to feel the power from Gandalf's elixir begin to subside. He soon had not the energy to call out Legolas' name, voice coming tired and ragged. He felt the chill of the night cut right through his clothes, and the weariness that had first been with him in the injured tent seeped into his bones. His knee was now almost too painful to walk on, and he had to fashion a walking stick out of an old sapling.

His body complained but he kept going. As long as he kept going in a straight line he would find a road. The forest was claustrophobic and stuffy around him, making everything seem louder and closer than it was. He wished at least he was't alone, if only to have someone to joke around with.

Again, he thought of his brother. Maybe the elves were wasting their time looking for Kili instead of tending to his wounds. A pang of guilt crushed his stomach and he was quick to push those thoughts from his mind. It was his fault that he got lost, and he would have to pay for it. Kili felt the tears brimming his eyes and was quick to wipe them on his sleeve.

He got away with another hour of walking before his legs gave out. He clung to his walking stick as he fell to the musty-smelling earth. 

He only caught the faint glimmer of the moonlight through the trees and the memory of a beautiful sylvan elf, before he closed his eyes and slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, It's pumped out in a hurry and on christmas, so don't hate me? :D  
> sorry, I really like Kili, and I really like h/c so yeah.  
> more dwarflings and hopefully we'll get to the actual good stuff (huehuehuehueeeeeee) soon. bear with me!  
> Merry Christmas everyone! :)


	5. Kili

Kili was too young to remember the face of his father. Nor did he recall his voice or scent, and only dreamed of the cloudy memory of rough, warrior’s hands and a scratchy beard. He was hardly around to help jog the young dwarfling’s memories, as he was always of with Thorin on his adventures. The only things Kili knew of his father were the brief and quiet descriptions Fili would mutter when he asked, which was little and infrequent.

The way his older brother told his stories, he was large and brave and everything Kili wasn’t, down to the scraggly beard and skinny arms. But Fili didn’t seem to like telling Kili about their father, and Kili wouldn’t press.

He does, however, remember Thorin’s face. It was early morning when his uncle returned from the battle of Azanulbizar, and Kili had woken up before the sun to hide by the window and wait for both his uncle and their father’s return. He woke Fili as well, nearly coming out of his skin with excitement.

“Go back to sleep, Kili.” his brother had sighed, sounding a bit too much like Thorin.

“But they’re coming back today!” Kili whispered, trying to uncover his older brother, who had somehow cocooned himself in his blankets. It was unlike Fili, who had always been the one to wake Kili to see the return of their uncle.

“I don’t care!” Fili sat up then, grabbing Kili by his shoulder so hard it hurt. His eyes were misted with tears and his cheeks were ruddy. Kili slunk away, only a little hurt by his brother’s outburst.

He quietly fidgeted as he watched out the window. Kili’s mother, Dís, seemed to have woken up even earlier than there him, and was standing outside in her small clothes. The puffs of smoke from her pipe came quickly and frequently, as she paced nervously in her bare feet. Kili huffed and hummed impatiently for what seemed like hours before the travellers finally seemed to appear on their doorstep.

For a moment, Kili was confused. Two had returned, but neither were the same as the dwarves that left almost a season ago.

Thorin looked so tired. His braids were loose and matted. His face was lined with the same ones Dís got when she spoke of Erebor. He walked with a limp and had the same fear in his eyes Kili only thought real in the darkness of his bedroom.

The other dwarf Kili recognized as Mister Dwalin. He sometimes came by to train Fili with axe and sword, though even the little brother knew he was still too young to even begin learning.  Though Mister Dwalin had never raised voice nor hand to them, something ferocious in the dwarf’s eyes were frightening enough to freeze Kili in place.

His mother had all but thrown herself into Thorin’s arms, weeping and wailing so loud even Kili could hear from inside. Again, Kili sniffed, still puzzled by the mishap. Where was his da? Was he late? Did he get lost? Thorin had promised never to leave his side unless absolutely necessary, a dwarf never goes back on his word. 

It was then that Mister Dwalin cast his gaze towards the window and straight at Kili. His hard eyes softened into something the dwarfing found terrifying in an entirely different way. He held eye contact with the warrior for all but a moment before scampering back down the hall and into his bed. He spent a moment fussing with the covers until he was completely covered and safe.

“Are they back?” Fili asked from his bed. Kili was silent.

He heard the framiliar sound of their front door opening, of boots shuffling tiredly down the hall, all the way to the last door on the right: Their room. Kili was trembling in his bed when he heard Thorin’s heavy breathing. He didn’t want to look. He didn’t want to see.

“Fili, Kili.” Thorin’s voice whispered, sounding like shattering glass.

Kili didn’t move. His brother was heard rustling in his own blankets, probably to turn around and look at his uncle. Thorin’s breathing didn’t slow down. It was quiet for a long time.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” Fili suddenly asked, and whether it was his brother’s breath or Thorin;s that hitched, Kili did not know.

Thorin was quiet again for a long moment. It took this moment for an unwarranted rage bubble up in Kili’s stomach, reaching his mouth in a strangled mewl.

“You promised.” Kili whispered, sitting up in his bed. He looked to his uncle, who was standing as if ready to receive a blow.

“Kili-“ He began, but the dwarfing would have none of it.

“You  _promised._ ”

In an instant Kili was upon him, biting and clawing and weeping into Thorin’s chest. All his uncle could do was hold him close. Fili sobbed and shook under Thorin’s gentle grip, and his uncle drew a ragged breath.

“You promised you wouldn’t leave him! A dwarf never goes back on his word! You said you’d keep him safe!” Kili pressed eve further into the warmth, letting Thorin scoop him up and sit on Kili’s bed.

“I did,” Thorin choked out, eyes wet and hands shaking, “I did.” again, Thorin drew in a breath, mouth resting on the top of Kili’s head, “I saw him fight valiantly, was with him every stride and every swing. I waited for the end with him, and saw him to the halls of hiz forefathers.” his voice was heavy and thick with grief, and he said no more. He gently rocked Kili, cradling the small child in his thick arms.

“I want Da back.” Kili sniffed.

“I know, I know.” Thorin whispered, petting Kili’s hair quietly. Kili closed his eyes and shook himself. He wished it all to be a dream, that he would close his eyes and wake to the halls of a great dwarven city, a home he had never seen.

He fell asleep in Thorin’s grasp, with the quiet rumbling of a familiar dirge falling from his uncle’s lips.   

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welp this one's great, ain't it? Sorry if it's short I've been really busy with stuff and I've been mulling over this scene for like, ever. Hope you guys like it! Kudos and reviews are always welcome! :)


	6. Bilbo

If Gandalf had not told him otherwise, Bilbo would have thought Thorin to be dead. 

He lay still and silent in his bed, both his axe and his sword were cast aside, armour strewn across the floor in what seemed like a mad scramble to get at the king’s wounds.

“Thorin.” Bilbo whispered, edging closer to the dwarf’s body. His eyes fluttered open, and Bilbo had to choke back a sob. He looked absolutely pitiful. He had wounds all over his body, all covered in old bandages and dark salve.

“Ah,” was all Thorin could say. His voice was ragged and broken, and much quieter than Bilbo remembered in the battle. He looked like he wanted to say more, But was hushed by the hobbit’s worried tone.

“Hush, Thorin. You need to rest.” Bilbo found himself trying to fix and tug at the wraps, worried that they had somehow not been done properly. He was interrupted by a cold, calloused hand resting over his.

“Leave them,” he commanded, “I have to apologize for my actions, they were unwarranted and put upon by greed, and I hope to part from you as friends.” Thorin’s eyes were hooded with heavy and tired eyelids, but even that did not hide the guilt in his icy stare.

Something settled in the pit of Bilbo’s stomach, and he made a strangled noise. Thorin wanted to see him and make peace, to say goodbye before he-

“No.” the hobbit ground out, rubbing his eyes.

“What?” Thorin’s tone was almost accusatory, but not harsh.

“Throughout this journey we have seen and done many things a small hobbit like me would not even think possible.” Bilbo began, letting tears roll off his cheeks, “All the gold in that mountain would mean nothing, if you were to-“ he stopped himself, making a face and shaking his head. “You can’t.” he sucked in a ragged breath, and Thorin almost chuckled.

“Do not weep, Bilbo.” Thorin’s grip tightened on the burglar’s hand, “It is a glad day, the Mountain is reclaimed, and my people will live to see it’s halls and forges alive once more.” Despite the pain in his eyes, Thorin was smiling, and Bilbo felt an odd sense of belonging in the small, cold tent. The dwarf turned from the hobbit, closing his eyes and sighing, a deep, easy breath, that seemed to have released the world’s weight from Thorin’s chest. He did not move after.

“Thorin?” Bilbo squeaked, voice shaking nervously. “ _Thorin.”_ He let his breath hitch only once, before whirling around and pushing his way out of the tent.

He saw Bofur and Gloin tending the fire, faces grim and eyes quiet. He cast his eyes farther  down the line of tents and saw a familiar grey hat. He quickly jogged over to the wizard, who seemed to take no notice of him. Gandalf absently sucked on the end of his pipe, muttering something to himself.

“Gandalf!” Bilbo almost shouted at him, stamping his foot in desperation. The wizard jumped, and smiled when he saw the hobbit.

“Ah, my dear Bilbo. What can I do for you.” The wizard smiled. His eyes were tired and his voice was weary. Bilbo may have chastised him for being cheerful at such a solemn time, but he had not the time, never mind the fact that Gandalf looked anything but happy.

“It’s Thorin.” The hobbit fidgeted, “please, you need to help him.” he felt his voice crack and desperately tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He balled his fists so tight it hurt, and bit his lower lip. If anyone could do something, it was Gandalf.

The wizard’s face fell, much to the hobbit’s dismay. Gandalf drew in one more thoughtful drag of his pipe, and cleared his throat. Bilbo fidgeted impatiently, but had learned all to well to be silent when the wizard spoke.

“I can help him.” Gandalf murmured, “Though our _King_ may not like it.” he made a disappointed noise and put his pipe away, drawing himself up and beckoning Bilbo to follow him. 

“Please, Gandalf.” Bilbo begged, “You can’t just - I can’t just -“

“Can’t just sit around and do nothing?” The wizard said, almost mischievously, “You _have_ changed, Master Baggins, and I can definitely say it is for the better.” He squeezed Bilbo’s shoulder affectionately, and led him back to Thorin’s tent. 

There the King lay, the same as Bilbo had left him, except this time he wasn’t alone. A tall, sleek figure stood over him, dressed in fine silks and pale linens. His golden hair fell like a serene waterfall from his head, corralled by a sharp crown of bare branches.

“Ah, Mithrandir,” Thranduil did not smile and his eyes were cold, “Would you care to tell me why I have come?”

“My Lord Thranduil.” Gandalf bowed respectfully, “It has come to my attention that the King Under the Mountain is in need of your healers.” Gandalf’s voice was different now, much unlike the old man’s usual charming and friendly tone, he had an edge of exhaustion to it, which made him sound slightly more desperate. 

For a moment, the elf king was quiet, his face was unreadable. He looked both at Bilbo and at Gandalf for a long while, expression teetering on that of something cruel. Bilbo was about to begin lecturing the King on the meaning of ‘Leading people On,’ but he was interrupted.

“ _Êl síla erin lû e-govaned vîn, Mithrandir._ ” a woman’s voice sounded from behind both the wizard and the halfling, immediately enveloping the room in her deep, commanding voice. When Bilbo turned he could only gape at what he saw. She could only be an elven goddess, with golden hair and skin that shone in the starlight. Her whole presence seemed to emanate like the glowing moon, a beauty that shocked and terrified him.

“ _Mae l’ovannen, melon-nîn._ ” Gandalf, bowed his head and smiled, his face joyful. Bilbo could only do the same. He stared at his toes awkwardly while desperately trying to keep himself from trembling.

“ _Le nathlam hí, hiril vuin._ ” Thranduil spoke, though he sounded confused.

She looked to all three of them as if she knew how to take them apart, but smiled, soft and honest. She then glided, more than walked towards Thorin, and Gandalf and Bilbo parted in order to let the Lady through.

“I have come to see the King Under the Mountain.” she said softly, touching his forehead. Thorin stirred, but did not wake, “The darkness in his heart has faded, such desire for so small a thing.” Her eyes drifted back to Bilbo and he had to rest his hand on the pocket of his waistcoat, just to check on it. She smiled at Bilbo and he almost squeaked.

“My, lady. Truly, many songs and tales written of you could not capture the grace and beauty you possess.” He bowed, feeling that it was the most polite thing to do, “but, your Grace, Thorin isn’t well enough to heal on his own. If I would have your gracious attention, I would ask you to please help him.”

“There is no need,” Thranduil suddenly murmured, stepping closer to the dwarf, “The woodland realm has more than enough healers at my disposal. The King Under the Mountain will be spared.”

Galadriel smiled as bright as all the stars in the sky, “ _Guren glassui._ I am glad.” she found Bilbo’s eyes again, and the hobbit felt completely naked under her gaze. She began to say something friendly to Gandalf, but Bilbo didn’t hear it.

_You carry something, something of great power._

Her voice rang in his head, though it was not a shock to know that she could read his mind. Her eyes always seemed to hold a certain mischievousness to them. Bilbo nodded ever so slightly, and she took Gandalf’s hands in hers. Suddenly Gandalf looked very old and very small.

“ _Boe i ‘waen, Mithrandir._ I do not think we will meet again, not as you are now, _melon-nin_.”  She smiled at Gandalf’s small chuckle, and turned to Thranduil. “ _Goheno nin, Thranduil. Na Lû e-govaned vîn.”_ She nodded politely at the king and closed her eyes. Thranduil held his hand to his heart in a familiar gesture.

“ _Guren níniatha n’i lû n’i a-govenitham.”_ he said, though the words sounded too artificial, much like Lobelia’s false-manners. Bilbo may have said something, but the Lady turned to Bilbo again, and stooped in order to look into his eyes.

_Do not fear, little one. You alone have the power to save him._

She squeezed his shoulder once and something beautiful and powerful lit up inside him. It bloomed from his shoulders and silently spread throughout his body like sunlight filtering in through a window. His chest swelled in the courage he hadn’t felt since hearing an throneless king murmuring a dirge to his fireplace. Bilbo felt a lump in his throat when she drew herself up, but he was quick to swallow it down.

“Thorin Oakenshield will be safe, so long as my Lord Thranduil can keep his word.” She glanced at the elf, who looked at her coldly, “Which I trust he will. Rest now, all of you, and rejoice when the yellow sun rises above a new day, for the King Under the Mountain has come home.”

With that, she left, quickly followed by Gandalf and Thranduil, leaving Bilbo feeling alone and brave inside the tent. He quickly glanced outside, and saw that all three of his company had already disappeared. He then went to Thorin again, just to make sure that he was truly safe. The king was still resting, but seemed to have more colour in his face and his breaths came less shallow. He felt the dwarf’s forehead, which was still hot with a fever.

“Bilbo.” He muttered, half asleep, “My halfling.”

“Thorin!” Bilbo whispered, though he didn’t know why, “Rest, they will have you fixed up in no time at all. Everything is join to be fine.” Thorin didn’t move or open his eyes, but something told Bilbo that he was upset.

“Fili and Kili. . . I saw them- are they?” He shivered in the cool night air, and Bilbo drew the blankets farther up Thorin’s body.

“They’re alive, Thorin, and no worse off than you are. Please, rest.” Bilbo worried, checking the bandages to make sure his wounds weren’t festering and tucking stray hairs behind the dwarf’s ear. Thorin shivered again, and Bilbo made another small noise in the back of his throat.

“Are you cold? I could ask for someone to bring another blanket-“

“No need.” Thorin shifted uncomfortably, “Another needs it more than me.” He then looked at the hobbit with the same cold, tired eyes that he saw in Bag-End nearly a year ago. This time, though it was different. His eyes were certain this time, like they knew what to do. His arm reached down and found Bilbo’s hand again, still trembling.

Feeling more Tookish than embarrassed, Bilbo pulled the covers up for a second and slipped beneath them with Thorn, who made a surprised, but not unhappy noise.

Bilbo turned away from the dwarf, afraid to hurt him accidentally in his sleep. The cot was too small to be able to sleep without touching him, but Thorin didn’t seem to mind. Bilbo closed his eyes before he could think against his decision, and listened to his king breathe.

It was that sound that was his assurance, and the only lullaby Bilbo needed in order to fall asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here be some translations for all you non-elvish fluent people.
> 
> Êl síla erin lû e-govaned vîn, Mithrandir - A star shines on our hour of meeting  
> Mae l’ovannen, melon-nîn. - Well met, my friend.  
> Le nathlam hí, hiril vuin. - You are welcome here, my lady  
> Boe i ‘waen, - I must go  
> Goheno nin, Thranduil. Na Lû e-govaned vîn. - I apologise, Thranduil, Until next we meet.  
> Guren níniatha n’i lû n’i a-govenitham - My heart will ache until I see you again (I always thought of this as like some sort of saying the elves had instead of goodbye, just something polite that didn't really mean something because it was said so often.)
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed. Less Bagginshield and more h/c. and Kili's still lost in the bush! :) more to come later, hopefully before the year ends.  
> I'm still feeling out the characters, so I'm sorry if they seem a little ooh right now, I'm just kinda warming up.  
> Thanks everyone and goodnight.


	7. Dwalin

“The lad can hardly use a spoon, let alone a weapon.” Dwalin sighed, running his hands through his thick, dark mohawk. Thorin had been asking him to train little Fili ever since Heptifili had been well enough to fight alongside him again. Dwalin had been able to waylay him for a year or two, seeing as the little dwarfling was still teething for goodness sake. 

“Dwalin, ”  Thorin halted his pony and reined it around to face the larger dwarf. It may have been the weariness on his face, for they had been travelling a lot recently, but Thorin looked much older than he should have, “I would not ask you if I did not think it important.”

Dwalin only grumbled and rolled his eyes as Thorin turned back to lead Dwalin over a wooden bridge. The ponies’ hooves were loud against the wooden planks, almost drowning out the babbling brook below. It wouldn’t be long before they would arrive, thank Mahal.

Both he and Thorin had come all the way from the Iron Hills. thin once again had tried convincing the king to march upon Erebor and drive the Dragon out. Dain had been diplomatic about Thror’s request, but had refused all the same. Dwalin felt the anger and hopelessness written on Thorin’s face, this meant that Thror would attempt to retake Khazad-dûm. A foolish, almost hopeless quest, but he was King, and his word would not be challenged, not when their people were without a home. Their journey back had been long and tense, with little words spoken between them.

“If I am starting him, I won’t be with steel.” Dwalin then called, and Thorin didn’t answer. 

Dwalin sighed and looked over the vast expanse of field before him. Heptifili had found a nice, quiet place to raise his two sons. Once he had discovered Dís was with child, he decided he wanted some place solitary, and peaceful. He had laid the stone in the house himself, along with the help of his brother in law, and Dwalin. After long days of toiling in the hot sun and it was finished, all three of them admitted that it was a decent house. It was no Erebor, but it would do. 

Heptifili was a good man, and he raised his children to be tough and loyal, like any good dwarf would want them to be. Fili was the spitting image of his father, with a golden mane and clever eyes. Kili, however, looked more like Dís, with dark hair and finer features. They had joked that he looked more an elf than a dwarf child.

“Why not have their father do it?” Dwalin asked, “He’s as good a fighter as any.”

Thorin didn’t answer for a long moment, and for a moment Dwalin thought maybe he hadn’t heard him. But again, Thorin turned in the saddle to look at the larger dwarf. His eyes were joyful but his mouth was grim.

“I trust you, Dwalin. Both with them and on the battlefield, if anything were to-“

“Gotcha!” A small, dirty dwarfing with matted hair jumped down from a tree, spooking the ponies. Dwalin’s had almost spun and bolted, but he had the strength the reign the thing in and let it settle.

“You little rat, Fili! I aught to run you down and feed you to the ponies for that!” Dwalin roared, earning him a giggle from the child and a snort from his pony. Thorin only chuckle a deep, honest laugh and scooped Fili up onto his saddle.

“My, Fili, you have grown!” Thorin wiped some dirt from Fili’s face and kicked his pony to move it along.

“Ponies don’t eat dwarfs, Mister Dwalin! ‘Sides, Zirak likes me, he wouldn’t want to eat me.” Fili giggled, but Dwalin just rolled his eyes.

“How is your brother, Fili?” Thorin asked, his tone becoming more serious.

“Good. He broke my toy. The lion one you made me.” Fili almost whined

“Did he now?” Dwalin could hear the smile playing at the king’s lips.

“Yes! It was my favourite!”

They rode for about another fifteen minutes, with Fili going on and on about nothing in particular. The dwarfling love to talk, and all Thorin could do was listen, halfway in between amused and bewildered. Dwalin said nothing, for he didn’t need to speak. They arrived at the quiet house not long after the sun had set, and Fili went racing inside. They both took their ponies and tied them to the fence, removing their saddles and watering them. After the two mounts were taken care of, they both headed inside. 

Dís was waiting at the door, her smile was bright. She had the same dark hair and cold, glass eyes as Thorin, she pulled both him and Dwalin into a tight hug, before leading them to sit by the fire, where Heptifili was standing. He exchanged rough greetings with both dwarves before sitting in his big, red chair. Dwalin and Thorin sat across from him at the hearth, still smiling.

He was a large dwarf, with a golden mane and beard. He had large, calloused hands meant for war and soft, friendly eyes meant for children. 

“Thorin!” An excited screech came from the door, making all three turn to see a small, dark-haired child come and launch himself into the king’s lap. He had also grown, though Dwalin had only seen him as a young babe, swaddled in rabbit furs to keep warm. He clambered up Thorin’s legs to sit on his lap, giggling and laughing along the way. Fili came to sit on the floor in front of his father, eying his uncle with nothing short of awe.

“Fili, you remember all the great stories I told you about Mister Dwalin?” Fili’s eyes lit up even more, expecting another exciting story, no doubt, but Thorin continued without a reply, “well, Mister Dwalin has agreed to begin training you for combat.” 

“Really?” Fili nearly yelped, jumping up and looking to his mother. 

“Thorin.” Dís almost gasped, “You were twice his age when you first held a weapon.” Her cold eyed bored into her brother’s, but he didn’t falter.

“It was different, then, Dís.” Thorin mumbled, “He should learn now, before-“ he then faltered, and Dwalin saw Heptifili’s hands tighten into fists.

“He wants to do it.” Heptifili said, sounding grim and resigned, “Thror wants to march on Moria, to challenge Azog and his legion.” for a long while it was silent, the only sound was Thorin’s long and heavy sigh. Even Fili seemed to sense the tension in the room, and slunk away to his room.

“Dain will not risk his men to take back The Lonely Mountain.” Dwalin finally grunted, trying not to sound terribly disappointed. Being emotional about something will not get the job done.

“Thorin,” Dís said again, this time her voice was more worried than surprised, “He listens to you, can you not stay this madness?”

“If I could, do you not think it would have already been done?” the king almost shouted, standing up from his chair, “I pleaded, _begged_ him, to let it go. But he. . . He couldn’t get it out of his mind.” Thorin’s voice caught in his throat, and he ran his hands through his hair.

Dwalin stood with Thorin, and laid a rough hand on his shoulder, but still said nothing. Thorin had been through a lot, Dwalin knew more about it than most. He hadn’t taken his grandfather’s madness too well, and still had a hard time talking about it. Thorin nodded at Dwalin quietly and continued.

“he’s . . . _sick,_ Dís. I know it a sure as my longing.”

Thorin had said it, something that no dwarf had dared to say but every dwarf had feared in their heart. Dís could only stroke the dark whiskers on her chin and blink, casting her eyes down towards the fire. She opened her mouth to speak, but stopped herself. Heptifili stood up, instead, and knelt. 

“If King Thror has fallen to madness, I, Heptifili, son of Haur do swear fealty to Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, true King Under the Mountain.” The large man had his head bowed and his  eyes closed. Dwalin thought he heard Thorin’s breath hitch, but he mat have been mistaken. There was an awkward pause, so Heptifili continued, “may it be I, the shimmering sword or the thundering hammer wielded by you, and only you, my Lord.”

“Hepti-“ Thorin began,

“Thorin. You have done nothing but good by my family and our people, at least give me the honor of dieting for you in battle.” Thorin then placed a tried hand on the top of Heptifili’s golden head, sighing again.

“Rise, now, Thain of The Mountain. May your axe be sharp and may your beard grow long in battle.” It was then Heptifili rose, and pulled Thorin into a rough hug. Dwalin sat back down in his chair, as did the other two dwarfs after a moment.

“Thror has called for a meeting in the blue mountains.” Thorin began. Dwalin sat up, resting his elbows on his knees attentively. “He calls for every able-bodied dwarf to gather and fight.”

“He cannot expect to win this fight.” Dís grumbled.

“I know not what the old man thinks any more.” Thorin frowned, and looked back at the fire, “I only know that I must do what is right, and what is loyal. If that means honouring my vows and going to my death, so be it.”

The room was silent again, and again, Heptifili stood.

“I must gather my things, if I am to go with you.” Dís stood as well, more out of defiance. Thorin didn’t look away from the fire.

“You’re _leaving?”_ her tone made Dwalin wince, dark and formidable.

“My sapphire, there isn’t time. I expect that’s why Thorin hasn’t unpacked yet?” he looked to Thorin, his face pleasing for help.

“Thorin.” Dís bellowed, “You can’t do this to the little ones like this! They _adore_ you. If you think you can just sneak out while they’re asleep as if they’d never notice I’ll have your beard!” she was huffing now, feet set wide apart and hands balled into fists. Thorin eyed her slowly and carefully.

“Gather your things, Heptifili.” He held up a hand to silence Dís’ scoff, and waited for the dwarf to leave the room before standing and confronting his sister.

“Do you think I have any choice in this, Dís?” Thorin whispered, voice harsh and desperate, “Do you think I _wanted_ the dragon to attack our home, for my little princes to grow up- _“ H_ e was interrupted by a swift cuff to the side of the head.

“Do _not_ give me that, Thorin!” his sister retorted, “It isn’t fair to them, or anyone, having you come and go as you please, never sending a raven or deciding to take my husband as you will.”

“And what would you have me do?” Thorin yelled this time, deep and angry and broken, “Tell Thror to stop this madness? Tell him to let go of the dream that helps every dwarf from Erebor get to sleep at night? I would not in all my life give up the ember that still burns in my heart, even if it may never be stoked into flame.”

She was silenced by his outburst, but stood her ground. For a moment, the siblings stood silently, staring each other down. They only parted when Heptifili had returned, his weapons and pack in hand. Both Dís and Thorin cleared their throat, awkwardly looking away from each other.

“Will you be saying goodbye to the boys?” Dís asked quietly, giving Thorin a sideways glance.

Heptifili shook his head, “Best not wake them,” he smiled softly, “They’ll understand, I’m sure of it.” He walked to the door, and quietly shrugged his cloak and pulled on his boots. Dís was still glaring daggers at her brother, even as he and Dwalin followed them to the door.

“Besides,” Heptifili added, “If they are mad, they can have my beard when I get back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is cracking up to be a lot less gay than I thought. Oh well, have some more flash backs and cute little fill and kili! :) Trust me, when i say slow-burn, i mean slow burn.  
> I suspect Ori next. c: Because I love him  
> oh oh oh! I also added a new Bagginshield fic! If you like college Au's you should totally check it out! :)


	8. Ori

It was quieter than Ori would have liked. 

For a long, quiet moment before sitting up, Ori could only blink up into the darkness. It took a while before he realized that the he, in fact, _wasn’t_ dead. It was so quiet and so dark Ori could barely tell he was awake, and suddenly felt the world rush back to him and have his senses feeling oddly stripped and raw. He sat up in the darkness, not even enough moonlight to dribble through the clouds. He barely saw the crow that had alighted on the butt end of a spear, half sticking out of the ribs of a lint warg. It’s fur was matted with dirt and blood, it’s limp and dead mouth lolling open uselessly. Ori took a moment to examine the creature, making sure it was indeed dead, before turning his attention to the bird. The crow’s black eyes examined him for a moment, before cawing once and fluttering away, seeming a little disappointed. 

Ori cleared his throat quietly, and reached for his waterskin. After emptying what he could into his mouth he made a face. The birds were coming back for the mountain, because Smaug was gone, nothing more. The little scribe then stood up slowly. His legs were weak and his head spun, but he still attempted a step. His shoes were heavier than he remembered, and he slipped in the mud and stumbled, but didn’t fall. 

He heard more crows to his right but dared not look. They were here for the mountain, like the prophesies said, nothing more.

A low groan made Ori start and fall to his knees. A large, pale hand reached up and grabbed at the little scribe’s knees. Ori squeaked and scurried away as best he could, still feeling exhausted and alone.

The mud was so dark and so thick, he barely recognized the injured figure to be a dwarf. The body was camouflaged among debris and dirt, hardly visible in the darkness.

“D-Dwalin?” he trembled, inching closer to the larger dwarf. From what Ori saw he looked terrible. 

The brine from the earth as well as blood matted his beard. His lip was split and his nose, bloodied. Ori also couldn’t tell if it was a shadow or a bruise that decorated his left eye, but cringed all the same. 

“Aye, lad.” he said, voice weary, “did we win?”

Something caught in Ori’s throat when he heard the rough, exhausted voice of the larger dwarf. He immediately recognized the feeling and stuffed it back down into his chest, where it ached and weeped for Dwalin. The tugging and the longing built up so great , Ori felt as if he was about to burst. Instead, he could only swallow and shake his head, hoping he wouldn’t notice the warmth in his eyes.

“Well, I. . . I don’t know.” the little dwarf dared to look around when he said it. What little part of the battlefield he could see was completely still. His and Dwalin’s breathing echoed around the mess of discarded weapons and corpses. The dark, empty eyes made Ori fell watched and uncomfortable. There was the light of what looked to be a fire in the distance, but his vision was too clouded to tell.

Another crowing in the distance made Ori jump, and this time an entire flock of crows took to the sky. Their wingbeats were loud and many, their number so great the entire sky was black with dark wings and dark eyes. Ori wished he could have hidden the fear on his face. 

They were back for the mountain, just like the stories said.

“Can - um, can you walk?” Ori whimpered, looking over Dwalin’s body. He had both arms and both legs, but other than that the little scribe couldn’t tell if he was well.

“Aye, if you’d help me.” Dwalin murmured, and Ori quickly stumbled to his feet. He almost slipped and fell again, but after laughing nervously and hiding his blush, he was quick to pull he bigger, heavier dwarf to his feet. 

Dwalin’s hands were big and warm, along with the rest of him. When he was first hauled up, he couldn’t seem to keep his legs beneath him, and Ori had to use most of his own body to prop him up, at least until Dwalin could get his balance back. For a moment, the huge dwarf swayed, moving each joint this way and that to test for injuries. He winced once when he bent his knee too far, but other than that, Ori couldn’t tell of anything serious.

“I think I’m alright, lad. Ye don’t need to be clutchin’ me like a handbag.” As soon as Dwalin said it, Ori jumped back with a squeak. The smaller dwarf hadn’t noticed, but he’d been pressed up against the warrior unintentionally, much like a frightened animal.

“S-sorry.” Ori stammered, wishing that his hands would stop shaking so hard.

Dwalin could only chuckle, and turn away, limping towards the fire that Ori had seen before. Even the fur at his collar was unkept and messy, adding to the wildness of the warrior. Ori blinked for a second, before following Dwalin, having learned to trust his elders from an early age. 

“S’alright, Ori.” Dwalin grumbled, and Ori winced as he stepped over another body. “I remember my first battle like it was yesterday.”

Ori blinked, still a little sheepish about his innocence, “Y-you do?”

“Aye,” he murmured, his face grim. He opened his mouth as if to say something else, but looked like he had changed his mind before he actually spoke, “did you see Thorin anywhere?”

Ori’s breath hitched and he looked into his palms. Somehow he had lost one of his mittens in the battle, leaving his left and bare and cold. Dori would be mad if he ever found out about it.

“Ori?” Dwalin’s voice tugged him out of his riverie, and he looked up.

Dwalin looked worried, and took a step towards the smaller scribe.

Flashes of memory came like a tidal wave, crashing onto the shores of his mind and sending tremors throughout his body.

A giant orc stepped towards him, mace ready and teeth glinting in the sun. A warg bit down on Fili’s hip, while his little brother called for help. The fear present in the prince’s eyes were not foreign to Ori.

Thorin stood with Orcrist in his hand, almost shocked at the arrow that pierced his chest. Sweat beaded on his forehead and blood matted his beard. The king fell to his knees, kneeling before his death. Ori had cried out to him, but the swift approach of a warg had made him falter.

The orc with the mace was upon him now. The glint in his eye was hungry, and Ori could do nothing but stare.

“G-get away!” Ori all but screamed, falling to his knees and covering his eyes. His entire body was now shaking uncontrollably. He whimpered again and flinched away from the rough hands that grabbed him. He struggled and desperately tried to pull free, but the gentle hands didn’t falter.

“Easy now, Ori. Easy.” the quiet whisper in his ear made him cease his struggling and he collapsed.

It was Dwalin. There were no more orcs or kings, or princes crying for help. There was only darkness and Dwalin, who was cradling him in his strong arms while Ori sobbed and shook like a leaf.

“S’alright, lad, you're safe now.” Dwalin breathed into the smaller dwarf’s hair.

“I. . . I,” Ori choked, clinging onto the damp fur on Dwalin’s shoulders. He was warm and strong, and Ori took comfort in the fact that at least he wasn’t alone.

“I know, I know.” he whispered softly, curling his arms even tighter around the little scribe. Ori could only sniff and turn his head back towards the firelight he saw earlier.

The flock of crows could still be seen heading south, away from the Mountain. Over a thousand pairs of wings blotted out what was left of the sky, amassing in a silent fury.

“They weren’t here for the mountains,” Ori whimpered, “it’s not like the old stories.”

Dwalin said nothing. He let out a sigh, long and heavy. Ori opened his eyes and glanced back towards the Lonely Mountain. There he saw two black ravens, both fighting over a scrap of carrion. They were the only two left from the massive murder before.

Ori had to look away after a long moment, still afraid to see the birds. He heard the angry cries of one of the Ravens, and slammed his eyes shut. What he didn’t see was the larger bird force an eyeball down it’s throat, much to the smaller raven’s discontent. Ori only raised his head when he heard the fowl flutter off, probably in search of more bodies to raid.

A chill settled in Ori’s bones, then, deep and formidable. He shivered as the cool night air settled on his damp skin. His heart raced and his breaths came quicker and quicker. Maybe they hadn’t won. Maybe the orcs had pushed through, and Ori would never get to see the mountain the way he had imagined. Nori had told him grand stories of the great halls lined with gold and jewels, and plenty of food and drink to go around. Ori had ignored the chastises and quips from Dori, who had tried to extinguish the hope in his eyes as early as possible.

“I- I’m glad it’s you.” Dwalin then rumbled, pulling Ori from his thoughts. The dwarf shifted uncomfortably for a second, and Ori closed his eyes again. He was too weary to try and understand what the larger dwarf had said. He pressed his face into the crook of Dwalin’s shoulder and sighed. His heart was sore again, but it no longer felt the woe it did before. It now felt full and warm, and it was beating so fast he felt as if it were about to come out of his chest. He exhaled another deep breath and hummed. The scent of Dwalin having drowned out the chaos and gore around him. He felt shame bubble up in his throat, the way he was clinging to the big dwarf like a child looking for his mother. He felt pathetic, holding onto something that could never be his, if only to pretend that he belonged.

“I wish it were a dream,” Ori finally squeaked, “that I would wake up in my brother’s bed and none of this had happened.” 

Dwalin hummed in response, but didn’t say anything. Ori shifted awkwardly against the larger dwarf’s chest, nuzzling into his neck gently.

“Oi! Lovebirds!” A tired, but cheery voice sounded somewhere in the darkness. Ori nearly launched himself away from Dwalin and into the mud. The larger dwarf grabbed him roughly by the back of his collar and hauled him up. Ori brushed himself off and looked up. Dwalin had his back to Ori, standing nearly in front of him protectively. He had a hand of the hilt of his sheathed sword, but didn’t draw it.

Ori peered past Dwalin’s biceps and smiled. There, sitting atop a grey pony, with his pipe in one hand and the reins in the other, and a cheeky smile on his face, was Nori. His eyes were more weary than mischievous, but Ori was happy to see his brother all the same. 

“Nori!” He giggled, pushing past Dwalin and nearly dragging his brother of the pony to hug him.

“Don’t be strangling me now, brother.” Nori chuckled, but pulled Ori into an embrace all the same, “Wouldn’t want to give Dori the satisfaction.” 

“It is won, then.” Dwalin said, stepping closer to the pony.

“Yes, but barely.” Nori instinctively stepped away from the larger dwarf, “Barely.”

Something dropped in Ori’s stomach, and he made a small noise in the back of his throat, “I- is Dori-” he began breathing heavily now, he knew he had felt something different stir in his heart, the absence of his brother. He scanned Nori’s face, who seemed less panicked and grievous than his little brother. 

“Mahal! no.” the thief almost laughed, “you think that old bat’s going anywhere soon? Now without marrying you off first at least.” He clapped a hand on the back of an now sheepish Ori, and turned to Dwalin. There was a knowing look on his face that the little dwarf didn’t like.

“And what of the King and his heirs? Where is Thorin?” Dwalin’s voice was far more grim than Ori had ever heard it. He looked to Dwalin, who’s face was lined with worry and premature grief, hie eyes held the same fear Ori had felt, and the same love Ori knew.

Nori took another step back, and motioned for his little brother to mount the pony. “He yet lives,” he sighed, “but only by the skin beneath his beard.”

Dwalin took the reins of the pony, and in one swift motion, scooped Ori up and threw him into the saddle. He himself then mounted the poor thing and muscled it around to spin and face Nori. 

“Where?” Dwalin commanded, his chest pushing roughly into Ori’s sore back.

“Be my guest, why don’t you?” Nori whined, “Not that you-“

“ _Where.”_ Dwalin’s arms tensed as he growled through a clenched jaw.

“Alright, keep your pants on,” Nori urged, his voice pitching just a little too high, “he’s down in a tent by the fire.” He pointed vaguely at the flickering light Ori had seen when he first awoke, and Dwalin put his heels into the pony. The little horse jumped and cantered off down the hill, leaving Nori shouting after them about having sore feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so late, I've had my ass kicked by Uni so i had to limp all the way back to my laptop for refuge. Thanks for all the kudos n stuff! love you all! :)


	9. Kili

Kili first registered the familiar voice of his uncle. 

“. . . They are the heirs to the throne, _my_ throne. I will not be ushered off by the likes of _you. . .”_

Kili felt weaker than he had the last time he had woken in a tent.  His body ached and his eyes itched for more sleep. His head was sore and he could feel his wounds all too well. He looked about and saw that he shared his quarters with another resting dwarf, but could not see his face from the furs covering him. Kili shifted painfully and looked towards the door. There was nobody else in the tent, but he saw the obscured figures of a dwarf and a tall elf as dark shadows along the white canvas. The silhouettes somewhat frightened him, though he couldn’t know why.

“My Lord Thorin, I was told to see that Masters Fili and Kili both had their rest _undisturbed._ ” 

The voice was that of Legolas, who sounded a little more than irked at his uncle. Kili winced when he heard the elf’s retort, and could only imagine Thorin’s stern expression.

Thorin was not a cruel dwarf. He was strict and serious, especially towards Fili, but he had never raised his hand nor voice towards his nephews. Though he was tall, strong and formidable, it wasn’t his anger that frightened the small dwarflings. It was the way his voice lowered to a dull whisper when Fili couldn’t swing his sword _just so,_ or when Kili missed the stuffed goblin’s head during target practice. It was the way he cocked his head to the side and hummed. It was the silence that frightened them the most. 

“Please. They’re my-” Thorin sounded desperate, a tone very unfamiliar to Kili. He had stopped himself from speaking, as if afraid to say too much. There was a long pause before the flap of the tent was opened and in strode Thorin. His shoulders sagged with exhaustion and his face was lined with worry. Though he was in a sorry state, it was not unfamiliar, and comforting enough for Kili. His movements were slow and careful, as if he were afraid to put a foot wrong. He first locked eyes with his younger nephew, and his face immediately softened. 

“Kili.” he breathed, limping to his bedside and pulling the young dwarf into a tight hug. “I. . . I though you were. . .”

“Uncle. . .” Kili could only murmur, shutting his eyes quietly and shutting the memories of the battle away. He could always be a little dwarfing if Thorin was around to care for him.

“F- is Fili?”

Thorin then drew himself up and looked over to the other bed, his face again showing his age and worry. 

“He yet lives.” Thorin was able to haul himself over to the other cot, all the while maintaining the regal grace of any king. He pulled and fussed the covers ever so slightly and frowned, “That elven prince was able to retrieve the needed medicine in time.” 

Thorin’s jaw stiffened when he spoke of Legolas, and it made Kili bite his lip nervously. He wasn’t sure if Thorin knew of his little adventure in the forest, and something told the young dwarf that he was less than impressed. He didn’t say anything when Thorin glanced over at him, for fear of giving himself away.

“I am glad you are with your brother. He has done nothing but ask for you.” 

Kili blinked for a moment, “He has awoken?” he asked, a little dumbstruck. He had felt his brother’s dwindling in his heart since the battle, the longing in his heart reduced to a dull ache hanging from a thin thread.

“Aye, but not for long.” Thorin murmured, pulling the blankets back over Fili. 

Kili opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a nervous voice from the door. 

“Um, excuse me? Hello, Master Legolas, is it? Yes, good afternoon. Have you, um, by chance seen Thorin around? Maybe he came by to see his nephews?”

Thorin froze when he heard the hobbit, much like a doe spooking in the wood. Kili was going to whisper something funny, but his smile was extinguished by his uncle’s glare.

“Not a word.” He mouthed.

Kili could only gulp and nod at Thorin’s cold stare. He heard Legolas stammer for only a moment outside the tent, which made him smirk through a bitten lip.

“I - I’m not sure I should say. . .” Legolas’ tone alone made Kili snort, “Nobody is allowed to see the princes at this time. They are resting.” he sounded more confused than anything else, “Is the King Under the Mountain not allowed to go where he pleases?” Thorin made a face at the question, and they both winced when Bilbo scoffed.

“Not when he’s got wounds to dress he isn’t!” the hobbit huffed, “And forgive me for being frank, my Lord, but you must consider some new guardsmen. Neither you nor the gentleman in Thorin’s tent can help me locate him, as if he were able to just disappear!” 

Legolas was silent for just a moment, and Bilbo made an offended noise.

“Why, confound all the elves in Mirkwood! You are hiding him in there, aren’t you?” Thorin let out  a sigh and looked over to Kili, face resigned. It took all of a second for Bilbo to storm through the flap and march over to Thorin.

“I should shake you, Thorin Oakenshield!” Bilbo nearly shouted, so worked up that his face was red and his hands shook in tiny fists. Kili had to laugh at the state of his uncle, bowing his head in obedience at the haughty little hobbit, who waved his arms and stamped his feet in frustration.

“I have spent the entire day looking for you, only to find you hiding in here like a warg in Rivendell!” Kili giggled again, but was silenced when Bilbo pointed a trembling finger at him, “And _you._ ” he shrieked, “Gandalf told me all about your little _adventure_ in the Greenwood, and if you so much as step from that bed, I swear on Eru himself, I _will_ have your beard.” Kili gulped and stiffly laid back down on his cot. He stared straight up at the ceiling and waited for Bilbo to finish dragging Thorin out of the tent. Once the babbling, fussy hobbit and the obedient dwarf made their leave, it was oddly quiet. Kili had to laugh to himself, mostly at the way Thorin would bow his head and obey the little creature. He took some sort of sick pleasure in seeing Thorin get ordered around by Bilbo. Kili smiled and wondered if hobbits had a One like dwarves did.

A soft moan from across the room made Kili start, and sat up in his bed again. 

He glanced at Fili’s bed, and saw his brother stirring in his cot. A pale hand peeked out from under the covers, twitching ever so slightly.

“Fili.” Kili whispered, swinging his legs over the cot. 

He only registered the pain once he standing upright, it first came as a tingly up his knee, but then spread like dragon’s fire through his spine, filling his belly with soot and choking him. His lungs and throat turned to ash as he felt his legs give out under him. 

He screamed.

Legolas was in the tent before Kili could drag himself over to his brother. He hardly noticed the elf, and continued trying to scrabble at the dirt for purchase. Legolas looked on for a moment in disbelief.

“Fili.” Kili whispered, reaching desperately for his brother. Fili wasn’t moving anymore, which made him nervous, “Please,” He begged, “H-he’s my brother. I belong with my brother.”

Legolas only stared at him for a long moment, his brow knitted together and his mouth pulled into a concerned scowl. He shifted on his light feet and then looked back to the empty cot.

Seeming as if he had made his decision, he turned away from the dwarf and grabbed the bed. The prince was all arms and legs and golden hair as he dragged the awkward thing across the floor, with grace Kili didn’t think possible. Legolas then let the bed rest next to Fili’s, and carefully reset the furs and blankets before helping Kili into it. It was easier and less painful than the dwarf first thought it would be. Legolas’ cool hands were strong and gentle, with an agile quickness to them that left Kili somewhat breathless.

Once the younger dwarf was tucked in and warm, Legolas brought his hand to Kili’s chest, and then touched his own in a friendly gesture.

“ _Guren glassui, melon-nin.”_ He then whispered, before turning swiftly on his heel and taking his leave.

Once Legolas was gone, Kili tried his best to turn onto his side and see his brother. After a few unhappy grunts and hisses, he was comfortable enough to lay there and see Fili. It was a little surreal, seeing his big, brave brother so weak and helpless. Fili was always the one to take care of him, to tell him to quit before someone got hurt. Kili made a face as tears pricked at his eyes. 

“Kili. . .” 

It was barely a breath, but the younger dwarf would have heard it if he were miles away. His throat suddenly closed and he pulled his knees to his chest, ignoring the pain. Sobs wracked his body and he shook uncontrollably. 

“Fili.” He choked out, closing his eyes and pressing closer to his brother. A cool hand somehow found its way around Kili’s wrist, and squeezed ever so slightly. Though his hear still beat quickly, it was calming to know his brother was there, that he wasn’t just some bodiless ghost. Fili was alive, and he was there, and that’s all Kili needed at the moment.

He was with his brother, where he belonged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahah sorry if it's a bit late. again, if i had testicles, school would definately have me by them.  
> enjoy?  
> oh and there's one line of elvish that just means "I am glad" Not sure whether i've already used that one or not :/


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